


dial [x] for love

by VerdantMoth



Series: for a good time [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Rimming, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 10:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: A man walks up, eyes Peter, and grins something feral. He reaches out, brushes a hand against Peter’s shoulder and Peter doesn’t have the good sense to back away, to send the stranger packing. Tony waits a moment, watching, but then Peter tilts his head back, bares that marble neck, and laughs.Something rotten stirs in Tony, something that makes him decide it’s time to make his presence known. He crosses the street quickly and steps up behind the man. Peter doesn’t notice him, but when he does, his whole demeanor changes.





	dial [x] for love

Tony watches Peter arrive from across the street. He like Mulligan’s, but parking there is a nightmare and no way is he taking a cab. The private garage across the way, aside from being secure, has the best view of Mulligan’s entrance. He’s watching as the kid walks up, and Jesus, he’s a vision on Tony’s screen but in person?

Tony full-body shudders. The kid is wearing skinny jeans that are still baggy on him, a red jacket, and a blue shirt that looks brand new and not soft at all. He walks up, and Tony smirks because he knows about that gait, and studies the line waiting to enter. Peter doesn’t join the queue though. Instead he leans against the wall, one scuffed sneaker-clad foot braced against the brick. He’s chewing on one of the strings of his jacket and watching the area.

He clearly doesn’t understand what kind of image he’s presenting, but Tony’s content to watch him for a bit. Men walk by, eyeing his boy appreciatively, but Peter doesn’t seem to register the gazes. His leg bounces, though from nerves or expectation, Tony’s unsure. 

A man walks up, eyes Peter, and grins something feral. He reaches out, brushes a hand against Peter’s shoulder and Peter doesn’t have the good sense to back away, to send the stranger packing. Tony waits a moment, watching, but then Peter tilts his head back, bares that marble neck, and laughs.

Something rotten stirs in Tony, something that makes him decide it’s time to make his presence known. He crosses the street quickly and steps up behind the man. Peter doesn’t notice him, but when he does, his whole demeanor changes. 

The kid stands up straight and his grin splits his face. Warm, oaky eyes grow bright and he bounces off the wall. Tony doesn’t even have to threaten the guy. Peter’s sudden dismissal of him sends a clear enough message.

“You ready?” Tony says. He’s watching Peter from behind his sunglasses, and tracks the way Peter’s eyes study his suit, his face, his hair. Peter swallows, eyes glossy and wide, and he sways a little towards Tony. 

“Yeah,” Peter huffs out. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 

Tony grins, something feral, and turns on his heel. He flicks a hand over his shoulder and he can hear the squeak of Peter’s shoes on the pavement. 

“Wait, ready for what?” The kid asks, trailing after him. 

“You’ll see,” Tony answers.

\---

Mulligan’s is Tony’s favorite. Its sticky and smokey and twelve kinds of disgusting, but he knows the people and they talk all kids. He ushers Peter to booth in the back and waives at the bar. 

“You didn’t have to pay.” Peter pouts beside him.

“Perks of being me, kid.” In truth, he funnels a lot of money into this place, helps them out. In return his booth stays empty and he glass stays full. It’s as close to a mobster as he’ll ever get, but at least he’s not cleaning blood out of his cloths. 

Peter shifts beside him, squirming a little as he tries to find a comfortable position. Tony grins to himself and slings an arm across the back of the booth seats. “Thirsty?” He asks, affecting a bored tone, tapping the wood.

Peter shifts again, leans into Tony’s space. “No.” He shifts again, “Well, yeah, but uh…” 

Tony glances at him. God, the kid is beautiful. Dark hair curling around his ears and big, open eyes looking at him like he’s this kids everything. 

An ugly, small part of Tony wants to feel ashamed, but he shakes it off. “Yes?” he asks. 

Peter blushes, a pretty little beet-root color that runs through his cheeks and down his neck, dipping into his collar. Tony wants to know how far down it goes.

“I uh,” Peter stammers out, “kind of thought we would-” the beet-root deepens and Peter glances down at his lap. “Well, I thought we might go to your place?” He says it quiet, like a kid already expecting a “no.” 

Tony feels his heart stutter and he drops his arm around Peter’s shoulder. He leans in close, running his nose over Peter’s ear. “C’mon kid. It’s your birthday. Don’t you wanna celebrate?” 

He leans back so he can watch Peter narrow his eyes. There’s a little fire in his boy, something needy but defiant. “I wanna celebrate, but only with you.” Peter’s answer is delivered firmly and Tony has to bite his cheek to keep himself from cackling gleefully. 

He trails a thumb down Peter’s neck and over his jaw. He leans in close and he can see anticipation in Peter’s eyes. Tony isn’t completely cruel, so he kisses Peter’s cheek softly. “In due time. In due time.” 

Someone sets a Dr. Pibb and a scotch in front of them. Tony picks his up and sips it, but Peter just pushes his glass around, squirming every few minutes. “Mr. Stark,” he whines. 

Tony tips his glass back, and it’s a bit of a waste of good alcohol but he swallows it all in one go. “If you’re ready,” He says as he stands and holds out a hand. 

Peter bounces out of the seat with a grin that’s contagious and Tony can’t help but brush a knuckle under his chin. 

\---

Tony doesn’t remember the ride back to his place. He loves having Happy as a driver, and he’s never been more thankful to not have to focus on driving as he is tonight. 

But they make it to Tony’s home and he leads Peter inside. Peter, who stares at the white walls and silver appliances of Tony’s pad like a kid let loose in a toy store. Peter runs a careful finger over a marble countertop, and then lifts himself so he can sit on it, as if Tony didn’t pay stupid money to keep it clean. 

He lands hard, and his face does a funny little twist that makes Tony shiver.

They stare at each other for a moment, Peter playing with the zipper of jacket and Tony leaning against his counter, studying him. There’s a thin line of sweat along Peter’s hairline, but he smells like soap. 

For the first time since his phone rang a year ago, Tony is feeling true hesitation. Peter sits on his marble countertop, chewing his string, and he looks every bit his seventeen years. All round cheeks and doe-eyes, legs swinging against the counter. His sneakers are skidding across the surface and Tony only half worries about getting the marks out later.

He clears his throat, and Peter sits up straight. Tony can’t help stepping forward and grabbing the kid by his jaw. He tilts his head, turns it side to side, assessing. Peter’s hands hover around the lapels of his suit, nervously. 

Tony leans down but he doesn’t kiss Peter, not yet. “So, kid, what do you want for your birthday?” 

He’s expecting some stammering, maybe an actual question. He’s so unprepared for Peter to grab him by the suit and yank, so their mouths crash together. It’s messy, possibly because it’s Peter’s first kiss, but definitely because Tony isn’t used to not being in charge.

Once Peter settles though, and let’s Tony guide him, they fit. Tony wraps his hands around tiny, sharp hips, tilts his head so Peter has to tilt his own back. Peter licks into Tony’s mouth like he’s discovering a new flavor, and Tony let’s him for a moment. Until Peter’s hands are pulling on his shirt, his tie, trying to figure out the best way to get what he wants.

Tony laughs against his mouth, bites at Peter’s lower lip, and pulls back. “Slow down, kid, we’ve got time.”   
Peter pants, rest his head on Tony’s chest. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “which means we gotta get the awkward first time out of the way. You know, so we can get to real good second time.” 

Tony barks a laugh and pulls back. “What are you talking about, kid?” He asks.

Peter stares at his lap again and chews his lip, “You know. I uh.” He chews his lip, and Tony’s first thought is “that's mine.” 

Peter looks at him through his lashes. “Well, I wanted to be prepared so I googled it.” 

Tony nods. “You googled ‘first times.’” He’s biting back a smile again, but trying hard to take this seriously for his boy. “Peter, do you trust me?” 

Peter tilts his head and squints at him. “Mostly.” 

“Mostly?” Tony asks with disbelief.

Peter shrugs, “Well, you kept your urinal number and also struck up a… thing, with the kid who kept calling you.” 

Tony rolls his eyes, “I got busy. I was gonna change my number, again, but then you called and…” He shrugs helpless because he really doesn’t have an answer for the second part. “But, if you trust me, then trust that I’ll take care of you. That this’ll be good. Can you do that for me kid?” 

Peter nods at him, all solemn eyes and serious mouth. Tony holds out his hand, “Moment of truth, Peter. Trust me?” 

His boy nods and takes his hand.

\---

Tony, for all his selfishness, likes to think he’s a good lover. Now though, as Peter sits on the edge of his bed jacket clutched in his hands, Tony stalls. His hands tremble around his tie and he doesn't know what his next move is.

Because Peter? Peter is other. It’s not his age; if his age were an issue Tony actually would’ve gotten around to changing his number. But Peter is innocence. The kind of innocent Tony never got to be. So open and trusting, truly believing the best of everyone, including the man standing in front of him. 

Peter looks at him like his a God, but Tony wants to worship him. He plucks at the knot in his tie until he can pull it over his head and drop it to the floor. He pulls at the collar of Peter’s shirt, grimacing at the roughness of the cheap material. He pushes forward though, tugging the cloth off Peter’s shoulders and over his head.

Tony sucks in a breath at the pale chest and smooth stomach that greet him. On camera, Peter was a beautiful, skinny little minx. Now though, Tony’s fingers skim over firm muscle that quiver beneath the pads of his fingers. He pushes a little, until Peter lies back. The kid swallows and it’s so loud in the silence, Tony huffs out a breath. 

Peter’s fingers brush over Tony’s shirt-buttons, feather-light. Tony lets him figure out how to undo them, lets him figure out how to get it off Tony. He pulls his own undershirt off, and then pulls at Peter a little so the kid scrambles up the bed. 

“Kick your shoes off,” Tony mutters. Peter flushes and, oh god, it really does travel all the way down into that tiny, pale smattering of curls on his belly. But Peter kicks off the sneakers, and toes off his socks. 

Tony knocks his own shoes off, only a passing thought for the damage he might’ve done to italian leather. He takes a moment, with his arms on either side of Peter to really look at him. “You’re so beautiful, not pixelated on my screen.” 

Peter narrows his eyes at him, “Are you saying I’m ugly on your screen?” 

Tony laughs at him. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He leans down and bites at the edge of Peter’s jaw, one hand dancing over his hip and digging below the waistband of right jeans.

Peter whines, low in his throat and arches into the touch. One of his hands curls over Tony’s shoulder and his skin burns with the touch. Tony might’ve told the kid they had all night, but he’s not sure he’ll last. 

He reaches for the button of Peter’s jeans and fumbles with it for a moment. “Christ kid, how do you breath in these pants.” 

Peter shrugs against the sheets, “I don’t. But I do look damn good in them,” and he gives Tony a cheeky grin. 

Tony makes quick work of tugging the jeans off, of pulling the black briefs down. He sits on his calves, staring. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, Peter sprawled out on sheets, one hand nervously braced against his belly. 

But here, against his own sheets and in person, where Tony can reach out and touch, reach out and trail a finger across a pebbled nipple and dig his nails into soft thighs? He’s not sure if this is heaven or hell, but he’s glad to be here. 

Peter’s eyes flutter shut as Tony touches, legs shifting so he can brace his feet against the bed. “What do you want, Peter?” Tony ask.

Peter doesn’t answer immediately. His brows furrow and his lips twist, and Tony trails his nails up to that place where his hips and thighs meet. “Talk to me, kid, you gotta talk to me.”

Peter turns his head away. Tony pulls his hands back and waits, but when Peter doesn’t answer he feels a crushing guilt in his chest. He starts to sit up but Peter’s eyes fly open and he’s reaching out. “No, please! Don’t go!” There’s real panic in his eyes and his clawing at Tony desperate and frantic. 

Tony struggles to pin Peter’s hands above his head. “Kid, kid! Calm down okay?” He waits until Peter quits writing beneath him, until he’s staring at brown eyes framed with wet lashes. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m not. But you gotta talk to me if we’re going to do this.” He waits until Peter nods, before continuing. “Really, you gotta speak to me.” 

Peter nods again. “Okay.” He chews a lip, but he doesn’t tug his hands from Tony’s grip. 

“Now, what do you want? Hmm?” 

 

“Kiss me,” Peter blurts. “I mean, not like in the kitchen. Kiss me like,” he pauses, angles his head like he’s chewing his thoughts. “KIss me like I’m important to you.” 

Tony has so many questions, but he tucks them away. He’s taller than Peter, and heavier too, but he drapes himself like a blanket along the boy. 

There is no performance in kissing Peter, no need to prove his prowess or battle for dominance. Peter licks at his mouth, nuzzles at his beard, but he is mostly content to let Tony take charge. To let Tony teach him, to guide him. They move against each other, slow and languid, unconcerned about anything but the heat of each other. 

Peter shifts beneath him, fingers curling around Tony’s, and he groans. He brushes against Tony and Tony realises the kid is hard. 

It shouldn’t shock him as deeply as it does, but he pulls back and Peter’s eyes are shut, brows pinched together. His lips are petal-red and a little swollen, shiny with their spit. “Please, Mr. Stark.” 

The way Peter begs sends a shiver through Tony. “You sure about this?” He asks, because he is sure, but he wants Peter to know he has an out. 

Peter’s eyes fly open, and they glow like wood in the sun, fierce with determination. “I know what I want. It’s you. It has been since you first answered the phone. So, please.”   
Tony makes quick work of his own pants and briefs, taking only a moment to bask in Peter’s appreciative gaze. He knows what he has, and it isn’t the first time his boy has seen it. Besides, there’ll be time for lingering gazes later. 

Peter’s cock twitches as he leans up on his elbows, and a part of Tony really wants to taste it. To take his time with Peter, to make him come undone with his mouth alone. Peter’s on the smaller side and narrow, but longer than expected, and Tony imagines he’d fit so nice in his mouth. But Peter shifts his body, spreads his legs and lifts his hips, and something gleams between the globes of his ass.

Tony grins and reaches down to press the pad of his thumb against the warm metal. “Good boy,” he purrs, just to watch Peter squirm. In a practiced move, he gently wraps his fingers around the base of the toy and pulls at it gently. Peter keens and his knees fall further apart. As carefully and quickly as he can, Tony removes the plug and drops it to the floor. 

Peter’s little rosebud pucker winks at Tony, and he can’t stop himself from leaning down to taste. Peter taste like sweat and youth, and the same soap he smells of, and Tony sighs into his ass. Peter writhes against his tongue, fingers twisting in Tony’s hair a little too tight to really be comfortable, but Tony keeps tasting until his jaw aches. 

When he pulls back, the area is spit-slick and red, chafed by his beard. He’ll have to give the kid something for that later. Now though, he slips off the bed and heads for the table by the head. He grabs a bottle of lube and a foil packet and hurries back to Peter. 

His boy has a hand fisted in the sheets and one gripping his balls. His lips is caught between his teeth again and Tony is really going to have to break him of that habit. He bats Peter’s hand away from his cock and grabs on os his knees, pushing it aside. 

Tony presses a kiss to the smooth, hairless chest, smiling. “Such a pretty boy,” he whispers as he rips the packet open and slides the condom on his own cock. He hisses a little, skin overheated and sensitive, before popping the cap of the lube. Despite all that he knows Peter has done with dildos and vibrators and plugs, it’s still the kids first time, so Tony squirts a generous amount of lube onto his palm and works himself over until he’s slippery-slick.

He braces himself at Peter’s hole and lifts his hips until he’s got the kid balanced on his thighs. It takes a moment to get the position just right, so he can actually enter his boy, but when the head of his cock finally passes through the ring of muscles, both of them let out a long sigh. Tony is careful as he pushes in, watching as Peter’s stomach clenches and his face twist. There’s no sign of real discomfort, aside from the initial breech, but when he bottoms out he still pauses a moment, pressing a kiss to one of Peter’s knees.

“You okay kid?” He grunts out. 

“Please,” Peter answers. 

Tony takes that as an okay and moves. At first, his thrust are slow, careful things meant to tease Peter. Peter whines beneath him, reaches for Tony and tries to force a more rapid pace. Tony just slows down, offers the kid shallow little half-thrust that make Peter wild, make him buck. 

Before too long though, the warm heat of this magnificent kid, the breathy little punched out noises he makes get to Tony. He can’t help but pick up his pace, putt a little more force behind his thrust, until Peter’s shifting up the bed. He grabs onto Tony’s wrist, head thrown back and neck exposed.

Tony knows when the kid is close, has seen the way his brows meet and his mouth circles and his chest gets tense. Tony’s close himself, and when Peter’s nails dig into his wrist, he feels the tightening in his groin and his hips stutter. 

Tony comes with his whole body, a trembling that hits the right spot in Peter, who follows after him with a loud, high cry. Tony barely forces his eyes open to watch the white, ropy spend cover Peter’s pale belly. It’s a damn near religious experience, watching Peter come down from the high.

Tony pulls out of him carefully and goes to grab some wipes and drop the condom in the trash can. He cleans Peter carefully, first his stomach, then slow, soft swipes of the damn cloth over his ass. Peter trembles, whether from the cold or the sensitive skin, Tony doesn’t ask. When he’s acceptably clean, Tony tosses the wipes and crawls up the bed, pushing and pulling at Peter until he has him under the covers. 

He arranges his boy so that he’s pillowed on Tony’s chest, arms wrapped around him and one leg caught between Tony’s. 

Tony presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, and strokes soothing fingers to his back as Peter snuffles against him. Peter’s breathing slows, and Tony knows he’ll be asleep soon. He whispers, “Happy Birthday, kid,” against his hair. 

Peter hums, and it vibrates in Tony’s chest. “You really ought change your number, Tony.”

“Yeah?” Tony laughs.

Peter manages to lift his head, and though his brown eyes are drooping with exhaustion, they are serious in the way the kid always is. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m an only child which means I never really learned to share.” 

Tony kisses him hard, then pulls the covers tight around them as they drift to sleep.


End file.
